
Hb4i A(, 



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i^^ JPHE BASIS 

OF ALL REAL HAPPINESS, 
%% Trell as all true Honor and Cclor j« 



JlNNIVERSARir ADJ>B.1ISS, 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE 



APOLLONIAN LITERARY SOCIETY 



OF 




UNIONTOWN, PA, 



/ 



February 22, 1842. \v^'>j- 

BY TT. 5. TTILIET.. 




aPRlNTBD BY JOHN IRONS, umONTOWNi PBISW- 



^- 



Madfgosi College, Feb. 23, 1§42» 

W. T. WILLEY, Esq. U^ \i^\ 

Dear Sir: ^V\G^\ h^ 

At a meeting of the Apollonian Literary Society of 
Madison College, held this morning, the undersigned were appointed a 
committee to express to you their high gratification in listening to your 
valuable and eloquent address last evening, and earnestly to solicit from 
you a copy for publication; if to furnish the same be at all within the 
lange of possibility. 

D. FORREY, -\ 

J. ADAMS, C Committee. 

E. SMITH. S 



Mor^antown, Virginia^ 25fli Feb. 1842» 

Gentlemen: Being in the very act of leaving XJniontowh to return 
home, when I received your communication asking for a copy of the 
address, which I had the honor to make to the "Apollonian Literary 
Society of Madison College," on the22d inst. for publication^ I had not 
time then to respond to your request. And, in enclosing a copj^ of that 
address now, I assure you that I do so, more in compliance with what 
seems to be the wish of the Society, than in accordance with my own 
inclination. -^■ 

Will you have the goodness to mention to your fellow members^ 
how highly I appreciate their kindness to me during my visit among 
them, and accept for yourselves^ personally, the best assurances oi 
my esteem. 

Very respectfully, 



W. T. WILLEY. 
Messrs. D. FORREY, 

J. ADAMS, J. Committee, 
E. SMITH, 



I 



A^]¥IVEHSA^Y ABBR£S§. 



Gentlemen of the "Apollonian Literary Society:" 

Occasions like the present, are of such frequent occur- 
rence, and the appropriate duties have been so often performed, by 
jnen of gifts and learning, that I feel constrained to admonish you, 
that if you expect from me, any thing new, or even hope to see 
that which is old, presented in a new and more attractive form, 
you will, in all probability, be much disappointed. 

Indeed it occurs to me, that I cannot better preface the remarks I 
intend to make, than by referring to a fact, which from its long and 
general recognition, has become an adage. It is this — Happiness 
is an object of universal pursuit. And however men may differ 
as to the mode of acquiring it, there can be no dispute, I imagine, 
as to the fact itself. It is the summnm bonum of all our desires — 
the great luminary in the moral heavens, around which the entire 
family of mankind, amidst all the diversity of their operations, are 
constantly revolving, each individual indeed, describing a different, 
and, sometimes, a very eccentric orbit, but all acknowledging the 
same centripetal influence. 

It is the desire of happiness which nerves the arm of the hus- 
bandman, as he wields the spade or guides the plough. It is the 
^ame desire, operating in a different mode, on the mind of the phil- 
osopher, which induces Wm to point his telescope toward the stars^ 
with a hope of unveiling the mysteries and glories of the distant 
universe. It has driven the hermit to his cell; and yet it courts the 
public gaze, the vulgar shout, and the loud huzza. For this, th© 
beggar strclk. For this the hero bleeds. For this, 

*^The proud run up and down in quest of eyes; 
**The sensual in pursuit of something worse; 
•'The grave of gold; the politic of power; 
"And all of other butterflies as vain." 

Its ardent votaries are seen scaling the loftiest mountains, plough- 
^'* stormiest seas, and traversing the wildest deserts. > nd may 



I not be permitted to enquire — What is the ultimate object of those 
youths who are daily crowding and adorning our college halls? 
What is the motive of yonder faithful student, as he 'Hrims the 
midnight lamp?" Why is it, that he has thus early, become **sick- 
lied o'er with the pale cast of thought?*' 

Yet how (ew, how very few, of the followers of this universal 
idol, ever realise their hopes and anticipations! But their disap- 
pointment is not to be accounted for by the fact, that mankind are 
engaged in such a variety of pursuits, and that happiness can be 
found in one pursuit only; for, besides the fact, that a difference of 
genius, disposition, and circumstances, would naturally incline and 
adapt men to different pursuits, it is not the occupation in which 
we are engaged, nor the success with which we prosecute it, that 
confers the happiness, but, chiefly, the motives and principles, by 
which we are prompted and governed. 

I. Suffer me, therefore, young gentlemen, to urge upon your 
consideration to-night, this important fact — That all true happi- 
ness, as ivellas real honor and glory , is inseparable from the prin- 
ciples and the practice of virtue. 

It is a sad mistake, with which many of the youth in our land 
step forth and assume their stations and responsibilities upon the 
great theatre of active life, thinking that mere scientific and literary 
acquirements, will, of themselves, be sufficient to ensure to them, 
felicity & honor in the world. Now, in making this remark, it will 
not be inferred, I hope, that there is any intention, to detract from 
the invaluable utility of such acquirements; for, besides the propi- 
tious influences of the sciences on the physical condition of man, 
in the reduction of the toils of manual labor, in the multiplication of 
domestic comforts, in the triumph of the mechanic arts over tide, 
and time and space, subjectir)i[{all the elements of nature to the pay- 
ment of rich contributions to the wants, pleasures, and elegancies of 
life, and in a thousand other modes — besides all this, virtue itself, is, 
to a great extent, dependant for its very existence, upon intellectual 
improvement. Because there can be no correct conduct without cor- 
rect thought. Our actions, to be uniformly proper, must be the re- 
sults of correct principles; and tliese can exist, only where a libe- 
ral education sheds its beneficent light upon our moral pathway. 

But without wishing to lessen mere literary and scientific attain- 
ments in your estimation, 1 must be permitted, nevertheless, to ad- 
monish you, that these alone will never beget in the hearts of in- 
dividuals, or of communities, as a necessary result, that sacred re- 
gard for justice, and truth, which is essential to the welfare and hap- 
•piness of mankind. They may tend to the promotion of correct 
moral principle, and consequently, to a greater or less extent, to 
correctness of moral conduct. But it is only a tendency. The 
powers of the mind may be enlarged and improved toany given ex- 
iteat, while the affections and desires of the heart are ttn&oUcbed* 



5 



One might suppose, indeed, that the soul, with its faculties thus ex- 
panded, and with new and rich sources of rational enjoyment thus 
opened, would naturally soar away from the low and grovelling 
scenes and base affinities of vice and sensuality, and seek its felici- 
ty in higher and holier pursuits, more compatible wilh its nature 
and destiny. To such a mind, the consequences of error, being 
better understood, ought to be more terrible; and the beauties of 
truth being better appreciated ought to be more attractive. 

But history and experience leave no room for speculation here. 
A cursory examination of the present and past condition of France 
(to come no nearer home) will satisfy a reasonable mind on this 
point. Dr. Fisk, (than whom I suppose there were few men more 
capable of forming a correct opinion, on sueh a subject) who visi- 
ted France a few years since, for the special purpose of examining 
her system of schools and education, uses this emplialic language, 
as the result of his observations — * 'France cherishes beyond any 
other nation, yes, I hesitate fiot to say beyond any other nation, 
the sciences and the arts." 

Yet what is the moral character and condition of this land of li- 
braries and lyceums, institutes and laboratories, faculties and col- 
leges? It has been called by way of distinction, *'a nation of phil- 
osophers." She claims that she has done more for the sciences 
than any other nation, and as much for the aits. She boasts of 
being the land of wit and philosophy, of eloquence and song. Not 
are her pretensions altogether vain; for there are hei Dacias, and 
De Staels, her Mirabeaus, and Rossiaus, her Voltaires and herCou- 
dorcets, her BnfTons, and her Diderats, and a host of other stars of 
the first magnitude in the canopy of literature and science. But 
where is her morality? "Where is that jealousy of wrong", which 
blushes at the least impeacliment of falsehood and crime? Look at 
her domestic manners! She gives loose reins to the sensual and 
vicious propensities of the heart, and openly proclaims that res- 
traints upon its desires, are the only obstacles to true happiness. 
Look at her plots and counterplots — her bloody assassins and her 
''infernal machines." What is marriage there? Where is the 
reverence of filial aflection? Where are the regard and protection 
of parental love? Is the right of properly secure in that land of 
science? Is liberty, is life beyond the reach of abuse? Or rather, 
has not society at large swung loose from its moorings, to drift, 
without compass or rudder, over the foaming surges of crime and 
folly. 

Permit me to offer a brief extract from the report of the Prefect 
of Paris, made a ^ew years since. I dare not present all the report. 
It would shock the moral sensibilities of this community. Accord- 
ing to this report, there were, in the limits of the single city of Par- 
is, in one year, 657 suicides, 150 murders, 155 murderers executed, 
§44 divorces, 1210 convicts condemned to the galleys, 1626 to hard 



91 



labor, and 64 branded with hot irons. Of these, 7 fathers rcnirder- 
ed their children, 10 husbands their wives, 6 wives their husbands, 
and 15 children their parents. A continuance of the catalogue 
would strengthen the position I have assumed, if I dare present it. 
But we have enough already, I presume, to shew that the cultiva- 
tion of letters and the sciences, does not necessarily establish vir- 
tue in the hearts of men; and enough to authorise me to warn you in 
placing too much reliance on them, in this respect. 

Doubtless the great Creator, designed that we should improve our 
minds to the utmost possible extent. Doubtless too, He desires our 
happiness. The infinite purity and benevolence of His nature for- 
bid any other conclusion; and the economy of His providence, and 
the arrangements of all the visible creation, amply attest the same 
fact. 

''For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings; 

"For me, health gushes from a thousand springs; 

"Seas roll to waft me; suns, to light me, rise; 

^'My footstool, earth; my canopy, the skies." 

It is, likewise, an obvious inference from the infinite purity and 
holiness of the Deity, that if He thus desires .the happiness of His 
creatures, that happmess must consist in virtue. And hence, to 
suppose otherwise, would not only be, to subject ourselves to dis- 
appointment, but would, in fact, be ariaying our own poor opin- 
ions against the gracious purposes and attributes of an all-wise 
Creator. So that to rely upon science, or literature, or wealth, or 
power, or crowns, or kingdoms, or any other such desideratum^^ 
sufficient to satisfy the desires and fill the capacities of the immor- 
tal soul, is not only a miserable and dangerous fallacy — it is down- 
right presumption. 

It may be true, as already intimated, that a knowledge of the 
sciences, expands the mind, quickens its sensibilities, and opens 
new and rich fields of rational felicity. But unless we are under 
the strictest control of moral rectitude of principle, these enlarged 
faculties and enlivened sensibilities of the soul, will only render us 
more acutely sensitive to the stings of a guilty conscience. 

Indeed there seems to be, not only a necessary and indissoluble 
connection between vice and misery; the all-wise Creator, for wise 
and benevolent purposes, has not only so arranged it, that* out of 
the path of virtue, men must necessarily be wretched; but it will be 
found, that a virtuous and upright heart heightens those pleasures 
which are of a purely intellectual character. It purifies the mental 
vision. It purges the films from the eyes of phdosophy herself — 
and sheds a brighter, holier, lovelier lustre on all the beauties of the 
visible universe. 



But it appears to me, that the fact we are attemptmg to establish, 
is susceptible of irrefutable demonstration, from the very nature of 
things. Suppose, for illustration, that all mankind, every where, 
yielded complete obedience to that great and comprehensive scrip- 
tural injunction: "Thou shalt love thy neighbor, as thyself." 
What a happy state of society would ensue! Ti4ose volumes 
of penal enactments which have been accumulating upon the 
shelves of our law libraries for a' thousand years, might soon be 
abandoned to the spider and the antiquarian. That admonishing- 
systeoi of jurisprudence, which has grown up to be the wonder of 
the world, combining the results of the labor, learning, and wis- 
dom, of the brightest and best intellects that ever adorned humani- 
ty,- would in a short time, be fit only for a place in your cabinet as a 
curious relic. No more would be seen the assassin's hand crimsoned 
in a brother's blood. No more would the torch of the midnight in- 
cendiary startle us by its horrid glare. The sanguinary "dogs of 
war," would be forever kenneled. There would neither be "wars 
nor rumors of war." Charity would cast her broad soft mantle 
over our infirmities; and green-eyed prejudice would hide her hi- 
deous head; and foul-faced envy, would slink back into her filthy 
cave; and bloody big'otry would flee from the fires of persecution; 
and the manacles would fall from the chafed iimbs of the mart}'!; 
and the livid lips of slander, 

•"whose breath 
and doth belie 



**Rides on the posting winds, 
"All corners ot the world," 



would be sealed in everlasting silence; and the deep fountains oi 
the sympathetic affections, would be broken up, and rich and co- 
pious streams of joy, and comfort, would flow out to the relief of 
indigence, distress and misfortune. Nay! our very thoughts would 
be pure; for, "Charity thinketh no evil." 

The selfishness of the world, as it now exists, poisoning all the 
fountains of social bliss, and destroying the peace and harmony of 
society, would be absorbed in a generous and active benevolence. 
Exact and equal justice would be the desire of every heart — politi- 
cal justice, regulating all the relations of the magistrate and the cit- 
izen; economical justice adjusting and controlling the intercourse 
of families; ethical justice, levelling those artificial barriers and con- 
ventional distinctions, now necessary to the welfare of the state, 
and securing by a defence, stronger than the arm of the law, the 
perfect enjoyment of property, of liberty, and of life. . There would 
no more be seen "The oppressor's wrong, and the proud man's 
contumely." What peace, what order, what confidence, what joy, 
what secdfrity, would reign through all departments of society! 

Pardon me, if I should seem a little prolix in nay remaks here- 



91 



for I am fearful that the importance of this subject is not only ne- 
glected in the dreamy anticipations of the youthful aspirant after this 
world^s honors, but is loo slightly regarded by those to whom we 
sometimes entrust the tuition of the rising generation. There are, 
indeed, sevepl instances in this country, where piety and moral 
and religious worth have been excluded from our public seminaries. 
by legislative enactment; and it will be found that the whole econ- 
omy of a very large proportion of the existing institutions of learn- 
ing in the United States, is directed to the advancement of literary 
and scientific acquirements, to the total exclusion of all kinds of mo- 
lal tuiliono Such acquirements are eulogized, as an antidote against 
every infirmity o An orator of no small degree of celebrity in Eu- 
rope, Mr. Phillipps — with greater fertility of fancy and exuberance 
of language tlian propriety of sentiment, as it seems to me, repre- 
sents them as a kind of panacea f r every evil; dispelling the 
gloom of the dungeon, solacing the solitude of the exile, and buoy- 
ing up their fortunate possessor under the accumulated burden of all 
this world^s misfortunes. 

We are told too, that "knowledge is power." And so it is. But 
it does not follow that the possession of power will, necessarily, 
make us happVo Power, in ihe abstract, cannot produce a pleasu- 
rable emotion in the heart. And if the principles w^e have been at- 
tempting to illustrate, be correct, it follows that nothing but a right- 
eous and beneficent exercise of power, can make us happy, either as 
the possessors, or as the subjects of it. Is there not power in the 
whirlwind? Is there not power in the storm? Is there not a ter- 
rible power In the earthquake, when the globe itself is rocking to 
And fro, like a wand in the grasp of a giant, and mountains topple 
from their firm basis, and cities, and temples and towers are scat- 
tered in ruins. *'Truly, **knowledge is power;" but uncontrolled 
by the principles of justice and virtue, it is too often the power to 
betray, lo oppress, and to destroy. 

But as a piactical exemplification of the truth of the propositions 
we are discussing^-— f 

"Take one example to our purpose quite." 

It will be perceived, that reference is made to Lord Byron. He 
was a man endowed with intellectual faculties of the highest order. 
He was gifted with a genius not second to that of Milton or Homer. 
He had a mind stored with the choicest treasures of knowledge. 
He had lingered long around »*Castalia's classic fountains;" and had 
drank **cleep from the Pierian spring." Yet he lived the very lersoni- 
fication of misery itself, a voluntary exile from his native land, 
wandering like a vagabond over the face of the earth, seeking quie- 
tude of mind, and at last plunging into the stormy tide of war, seek- 



9 

^^ ._ is anguish of s 

True! his soul, 



ing to drown his anguish of soul in the din of barbarian arms. 



"did sometimes burst the bands of its dismay, 

"And on the rapid plumes of song, 
"Clothed itself sublime and strong.'* 

But these coiruscations of genius, only served to reveal the gloo- 
ininess of his soul; as the fitful lightning's flash exhibits to the be- 
nightened traveller, the dark chasms, and imminent perils which 
beset his paths. His muse, sometimes, sang most sweetly of 

"Pleasures in the pathless woods, 
"Raptures on the lonely shore, 
"Society, where none intrudes, 
"By the deep sea, and music in its roar.'* 

But the man himself, 

"A wandering, weary, worn and wretched thing, 
"Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul — 
"A gloomy wilderness of dying thought, 
"Repined and groaned and withered from the earth." 

But although, through the agency of mere intellectual acquire" 
inents, we should succeed in accumulating wealth, grasping pow- 
er, and even elevating ourselves to the very summit of human gran- 
deur, we shall still fail to obtain happiness, not only because such 
things are insufficient to satisfy the mind,* but also, on account of 
the mutability of all human affairs. To render our felicity com- 
plete, the sources of it must be permanent, unvarying, and constant- 
ly within our reach. But the sources just mentioned are not of 
this character. They are the mere sport and toys of innumerable 
agencies, over which we have little, or no control; protracted in du- 
ration, deterioated in value, modified in form, and even destroyed, 
by fire and fraud, and wind and wave, and sword and accident, and 
a Tariety of other casualties. 

Besides all this — What is Literature, or what are the arts? what 
are the discoveries of sciences, and the conquests of philosophy? 
what are the trophies of ambition, and the wealth of a Croesus? 
what are the crowns of all the Csesars, and the imperial diadem of 
a Napoleon? to the man whose conscience is "ill at ease." The 
slumbers of the shepherd on his pallet of straw, are sweeter thaa 
ibis. 



10 

The consciousness of wrong, harrowing the soul, will pursue us 
'^ike an evil genius, whithersoever we go, poisoning all our enjoy- 
ments. To the guilty conscience, the chalice of pleasure itself, is 
but a portion of bitterness. A guilty conscience! It is impossible 
to quench its fiery upbraidings. Its "still small voice," will be 
heard, even amidst 'Hhe clash of resounding arms," causing the 
heart of the victor to tremble, in the very hour of his triumph. Its 
secret admonitions, like Banquo's ghost at the feast of Macbeth, will 
startle us, in the midst of our most jovial carousals. It besets all 
the paths of folly. It haunts every hiding place of vice. Wealth 
cannot bribe it. Power cannot intimidate it. Learning cannot 
evade it. There is no escape from its importunity but at the gallows , 
or in the grave. The bad man may smile. He may exhibit ex- 
ternal complacency; while the tempest is raging within. lUa se 
jactat in aula — Aeolus^ et clauso ventorwn carcere regnet. He as- 
sumes a calm exterior in public; but in solitude, in the silence of the 
night, will conscience, faithful to her post, do her dread offices. 
Aye! like Richard the Third, of England, after long years of toil, 
afier millions expended, and innumerable dangers pa^^sed with the 
glittering crown newly fitted to his royal brow, shall the pillow of 
the bad man, be beset with the haggard phantoms of his crimes, 
conjured up, by 'a guilty conscience, in terrible succession, tilt 
overpowered by the pungency of his anguish, he shall leap uncon- 
sciously from his couch, startling the stillness of the midnight 
hour, with this involuntary exclamation — *'I am a villain;" or un- 
til, like that guilty monarch, he is willing to give ''a kingdom for 
ahorse" — the reward of all his vices, for the means of escaping 
their penalty. 

The prosperity of dissolute and vicious men, very often perplex- 
es the superficial observer of men and things. Indeed, it perplex- 
ed the mind of the Psalmist himself. Let me, however, commend 
to your consideration hi? conclusions. But although, we may not, 
at all times, be able fully to comprehend 



-"the cause 



"Unassuming worth in secret lived, and died 
"Neglected; why the good man's share, 
"In life was gall and bitterness of soul." 

Yet let me rather suffer with virtue, thnri prosper with vice 
Give me a *\conscience void of offence," before all th« honors and 
wealth of the world. Sustained by conscious integrity of soul, you 
shall be able to buffet wilh misfortune. Lo! upoii ihe wide sea, a 
gallant ship! How gracefully she yields to the embrace of hea- 
ven's breez'is, and **skim3 along the main!" But. soon darkclouds 
arise, and the storm descends upon her in all its fury. Old ocean 



11 

mis up his awful waves. Night adds new horrors to the scene; 
and still the fury of the hurricane increases. Alarm and conster- 
nation seize every bosom; but the cries of despair are drowned in 
the peals of thunder, the raging of the sea, and the howling of the 
blast. Shroud after shroud is torn into tatters. Rope after rope 
betrays its trust; and at last the crashing masts are carried away. 
The helsman is at fault — 

"Art fails and courage falls; no succor near; 
*'As many waves, as many deaths appear." 

But still that vessel rides on. Abandoned to her fate, without 
compass, or rudder, she rides on — Her beams are of oak; they are 
f^ound to the core. There is no fault in her materials. And 
when the morning breaks, and the tempest subsides, there she is, 
with her trust all safe, reposing in peace, 

''On the calm blue surface of a summer's sea.'* 

So shall the virtuous man survive the bitterest storms of persecu- 
tion. Though clouds and darkness may obscure his path at mid- 
day; yet shall the rectitude of his heart and the buoyancy of an ap- 
proving conscience, bear him along, till light breaks upon his way; 
and his evening sun at least, shall set in unclouded glory. 

11. But mankind, in the second place, are as often mistaken in 
regard to v/hat their true honor and glory consist in, as they are in 
relation to the principles of their happiness. Indeed, it quite fre- 
quently occurs, that the former are sought, as the objects, which 
will, necessarily, confer the latter; and hence a false step here, will 
not only disappoint us of felicity, but erroneous principles in this 
respect, will be extensively pernicious; for whose bosom is insensi- 
ble to honor? What young man standing on the verge of the busy 
%vorld, intt) which he is about to enter, does not with hopes, bright 
:rmd arden't, look far along the dim vista of time, and picture for 
himself, some sunny spot, where, after having v/on renown and 
influence, he may realise all the pleasures of power and distinction? 
Whose eye has not been strained to catch a glimpse of the temple 
of fame, fondly cherishing the anticipation, that the day shall 
come, when his name shall roll away from her misty mountain, on 
the "loudest notes of her swelling trump?" All this is commenda- 
ble. I would not repress the noble aspiration. But I would tell 
you that virtue, is the only road to honor. I would remind you 
that, 

"An honest man's the noblest work of God." 

Is not this proposition susceptible of proof? Now the only per- 
fect and truly honorable and glorious being in the Universe, is God, 



12 

In proportion, therefore, as man approximates the character of his 
Maker, in the same proportion he is an honorable man. Hence, 
in the same proportion that we are just, upright, charitable, benev- 
olent, and holy, are we honorable; for this, is to be like God. Hence, 
it follows that it is not the crown, nor the sceptre which confers 
honor on the king; else the tyrant might be an honorable man; else 
the magistrate, who tramples upon the rights of the citizen, and 
wastes his substance, might still be considered an honorable man- 

You may place the despot on his throne, clothed with unlimited 
authority. Mankind will fear him, but ihey will not revere him, 
nor honor him, except with the servile homage of fear. Upon the 
plain principles of common sense, our affections and our distinctions 
would be conferred on those from whom we derive real benefits. 
Upon the same principles we would naturally love and cherish the 
benevolent and the good; and we would naturally hate and oppose 
the malevolent and the vicious. Hence, even bad men beekingfa^ 
vor of mankind, forthwith assume the guise of virtue. The wolf 
approaches you in sheep's clothing. And hence virtue is not only 
the surest, but it is likewise, the easiest, path to honor. 

But the fundamental principles of all true and abiding honor, 
must, necessarily, consist in the will to do good, and in the bene- 
ficent and vigoious exercise of that will. For, what is a mere name! 
what is wealth? what is power in the abstract? Office, or distinc- 
tions, and favors of any kind, pre-suppose merit in the person on 
whom they are conferred. They are, theoretically, at least, the 
avowed rewards of merit. But nothing which is criminal or 
wrong can be meritorious; and hence nothing criminal or wrongs, 
can be honorablci 

Yau may be dressed up in a "litde brief authority"~you may 
shine in all the trappings of official dignity; the splendor of your 
external appearance may bewitch the eyes of the giddy. But what 
of all this? '*The whited sepulchre, full of dead men's bones,-' 
presents a fair exterior. The Iceberg, rising, as if b) magic, out 
of the Northern seas, into a thousand fantastic forms, of temple,, 
turret, and tower, with the sun blazing upon its burnislied battle* 
raents, laughing to scorn the skill of the boldest architect, is an ob- 
ject most magnificent to behold. But all within, is cold and inan- 
imate. While it staijds, delighting the vision, it is dangerous to 
approach it; and soon, severed from its crystal moorings, away it 
drifts, the sport of wind and tide, until it melts into the wave, 
whence it grew, leaving *'not a trace behind." So shall pass 
away the fairest, firmest structures of crime and follyl , 

It is said, that the Lizzard, in Egypt, sometimes wriggles itself 
to the summit of the loftiest pyramid, and basks in the sunshine, 
where the eagle is wont to prune her wings. But it is a lizzard 
still. Accidental distinction, or ill-gotten power, cannot make the 
bad maa honorable. Take the successful demagogue, for illustra* 



13 

lion. He, like the mole, by (to use an expressive Wfrd from 
Burke) '^nuzzling" his way along in dark and secret places, under- 
raining the reputation of the wise and virtuous, and, sometimes, 
the very foundations of liberty itself, may thus dig, and crawl, and 
sneak into places of trust and distinction. But he is a demagogue 
still; and no sooner does the light of heaven, expose his impos- 
tures, than fame, forthwith, shuts her temple in his face; and his- 
tory, faithful to her record, rolls up her scroll, and refuses him a 
chapter in her annals; & mankind, at large, sooner or later, by com- 
mon consent, consign him to the infamy and obscurity from which 
he originally crept. Rest assured, gentlemen, that virtue is the 
only sure and solid basis of lasting fame. Power, indeed, opera- 
ting on our fears, may command the slavish adulation of the syco- 
phant; office, through the influence of its patronage, may rally a 
fickle band of mercenary retainers; wealth, and pomp, and pagean- 
try, may bewilder the senses of the vulgar multitude; but virtue, 
and virtue only, can win the hearts, and retain the affections of a 
free and intelligent people; virtue, and virtue only, can erect amon- 
oraent that will endure the ravages of time. 

I am well aware, gentlemen, of the lamentable frequency, with 
which bad men succeed, in accomplishing their purposes. But 
we ought to remember, that success is not always honorable. Nay! 
we are informed upon the highest authority, that men are wont *'to 
glory in their shame." It is a fact that we are too apt to perse- 
cute virtue in distress and render homage to vice in disguise. But 
although we sometimes, see the good man withering under the 
noxious influences of envy, malevolence and misfortune; although 
the giddy, the vain and the corrupt, do, sometimes, for a season, 
run away with the world's esteem and distinctions; and although 
we may, occasionally, be called on, -to shed a tear upon the grave 
of the virtuou> monk, sunk in hopeless obscurity; yet, on the other 
hand, where, in all the world's history, can you find a single in- 
stance of a bad man, who has risen to power and authority, by im- 
proper means, of whose fortune, or of whose fame, it may not, 
sooner, or later, be said — ''How are the mighty fallen!" There is 
seldom an exception, to the maxim, that — ''Truth is mighty and 
will prevad." The upright man is, sometimes, nay very often, 
the particular mark, at which envy, malevolence, and unholy am- 
bition, direct their fiercest shafts; and he may sink for a while, un- 
der the attack; but his final triumph, is pretty certain. The lofty 
oak, on the mountain's summit, standing fair to the storm, bends 
low, it may be, before the terrible tornado, that is sweeping the 
weaker forest trees from around it; but when the day dawns and 
the storm abates, it lifts up its unshattered trunk erect and strong, 
and casts abroad its gigantic arms, over the surrounding desolation, 
^ if io very derision of the blast. So shall the good maa survive 



14 

ihe loudest thunders of obloquy and slander^ the conflicts of factio2is 
and all the machinations of his foes, and come out, at last, from the 
furnace of his afflictions, like the statue of *'Aristides the Just," 
from the ruins of Hercular^euni, unscathed by the fires of the volano? 
unbroken by the concusiiiions of the earthquake, and live in the 
memory of mankind, and grace the page of history, when the 
names of his contemners shall have passed away, **iike the base- 
less fabric of a vision." 

'^Blessed, is the memory of the just; but the name of the wicked 
shall rot." 

In conclusion. I have taken it for granted, gentlemen, that you, 
like the rest of mankind, are eager in the pursuit of happiness; and 
I have little-less hesitation in supposing, that the world's honors, in 
some form or other, are set apart in your anticipations, as the cher- 
ished objects, that, sooner or later, are to realize your hopes. The 
honorable evidence of industry and the very creditable indications 
of talents, this night exhibited by many of you, are gratifying har- 
bingers of your future eminent success. Sufier me, therefore, to 
repeat, in the most solemn manner, and under the most solemn 
conviction of the tiuth of what I say, that neither happiness nor 
honor, can ever be enjoyed or won, but in the straight path of mo- 
ral rectitude of principle and conduct. And I would even, address 
to you, the language, which Burke addressed to the Clergy of 
England: That *'you should not look to the paltry pelf of the mo- 
ment, nor to the transient and temporary praise of the vulgar, but to^ 
a permanent existence, in the permanent part of your nature, and 
to a permanent fame and glory, in the name you shall leave, as a 
rich inheritance to the world." 

Let all your ends be noble and exalted; and in the pursuit of 
praiseworthy objects, let all your means be justifiable and proper. 
Never sacrifice the right to the expedient. With your eye fixed 
on virtue, as the mariner's on the pole-star, hold fast your integrity. 
Never look back on all the plains of vice. When the syren voice 
of sensual pleasure shall tempt you from the path of rectitude, 
hearken not. Like Circe did the companions of Ulysses, she will 
transform you into beasts. Let all your purposes be upright; and 
be firm to your purpose. Let other men change, let parties change, 
let faction clamor; be you steadfast. Let power frown; quail not. 
Let corruption proffer her richest biibes, and mad ambition her 
most seductive temptations; yield not. But let the sentiments of 
your hearts be; Truth forever! Let your response to such evil 
besetments be — my integrity before a crown. Cherish that im- 
mortal sentiment.— »*I would rather be right, than be President," 
^ And if it were not improper, for one like me, I would venture to 
repeat to you the solemn admonitions of Solomon, who after he 
had worn the crown* swayed the sceptre* and exhausted every 
source of sublunary honor and enjoyment* besought men* as the rt- 



15 

suit of his whole experience; "To hear the conclusion of the whole 
matter; fear God, and keep his commandments; for this is the 
whole duty of man." 

I would dare to recommend to your consideration the exampleof 
the wise man, described in the glowing numbers of the British 
bard — the man who, 

*'With reason's eye his passions guards; abstains 
"From evil; lives on hope, on hope the fruit 
* 'Of faith; purifies his soul; looks upwards; 
"Expands his wings, and mounts into the skyj 
'♦Passes the sun and gains his father's home; 
"And drinks with angels from the fount of bliss.' ^ 



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